


Made of Flesh, Not Steel

by AcidNightmare



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidNightmare/pseuds/AcidNightmare
Summary: A distress beacon hits too close to home as a storm mounts ominous on the horizon
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Male Sole Survivor
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So funny story during my first play through of the blind betrayal mission when you find Danse for the first time without his armor on he also wasn’t wearing any clothes and I thought it a very poignant moment. I had all these ideas about how it was a way to show how vulnerable he was, or maybe he had stripped to look for any physical sign of him being a synth, or maybe he was trying to appeal to Nate or Arthur’s humanity by showing he looked just like them, a human(!) … only to find out that I had accidentally just unequipped his clothes and he was supposed to be wearing his uniform the whole time.  
> Oh.  
> Well, it still inspired this whole thing.

  
  


The signal played over and over again, the piercing choked voice screaming and pleading through the airwaves. It had repeated enough times that Danse had memorized the message, the tone, the cadence, the shrill wail. It was like being followed by a banshee, some forgotten ghost screaming through an ancient broadcast. Danse had quickly learned that each time they came across a beacon pleading for help; Nate would let the message play continuously in the background as they searched the wasteland, the anguished pleas and screams slowly worming their way into Danse’s brain time and time again.

Danse had never questioned exactly why Nate insisted on leaving the beacon running until he found the tragic source, but he figured it was Nate’s way of giving voice to the dead; listening to these lost souls hundreds of years later when no one else would.

It gave Danse a twinge of sadness in his chest that littered all over the land distress beacons had been airing for years after years and no one else cared to investigate until Nate came along. All those ghosts crying out for help that would never come until a man haunted by the same past arrived. Yet that sadness in his chest turned to inexplicable adoration for Nate as he fought to set right all the injustices the years had piled onto the Commonwealth. Even with something as simple as switching off a forgotten radio.

Danse had never met anyone quite like Nate, yet knew from the moment they’d met: Nate in his scrap metal armor, snarling dog at his feet, pistol cocked at the back of a feral’s head, knew that he was someone worth knowing. And eventually, someone worth following.

The day’s mission had brought Nate and Danse up the coast, trudging through sand and scrub until the Kingsport lighthouse towered over them. Their assignment was simple, thin out a herd of mirelurks that skulked along the water’s edge and threatened the settlers eking out a small harvest at the lighthouse’s base. Danse thought there were more pressing matters that required their attention than the plight of half a dozen farmers, but Nate preferred to do the work himself, traversing the Commonwealth on his own, solving problems and picking up strays.

When they approached the lighthouse, the salt air stung Danse’s eyes as the wind picked up screaming, looming steel gray clouds gathering distant on the horizon. The sky was darkening quickly and the waves crashing below them turned choppy from the rapidly approaching storm.

“Won’t have much daylight left at this rate.” Danse observed, peering over the edge of the shallow cliffside to the scuttling mirelurks. There were three visible and probably twice that many hiding below the surface that would only appear when the first shot rang out and echoed in the air. Nate was already crouched, scope up to his eye, aimed with the howling wind.

“Let’s not make this take too long, then.” And Nate pulled the trigger, sending a round through a mirelurk’s exposed eye. It screeched and dropped as Danse watched, pairs of chitinous forearms scrabbling desperately in front of its face.

Danse let the creatures come to him, feet planted in the dirt and brush as he mowed down the approaching mirelurks, counting the seconds in his head to time his bursts of ammo. Several more bodies rose from the surf like he’d assumed they would, but they weren’t built for climbing and their slow ascent gave Danse ample time to fill each beady-eyed fuck full of lead.

When the beasts were little more than cracked shells and bloody paste, Danse let his gaze wander to Nate, watching as he picked his way down the slope of the cliff to the bodies, scouring the remains for anything useful.

Danse called down an offer to carry anything too cumbersome, but Nate just responded with a knowing smile and a wave of acknowledgment before continuing his search.

Danse waited for Nate patiently, leaned against the only part of fencing he’d found that could support his weight in power armor. Danse wasn’t sure when it had become second nature to him to adjust his life to Nate’s pace, but despite being his commanding officer, Danse found himself following Nate unconditionally, trusting him with a depth he’d reserved for very few people in his life.

“Anything worthwhile?” Danse asked as Nate finally trudged back up the hill and joined him on the cliffside.

Nate flashed another smile. “Worth the few minutes it took to pick it up.”

“I’ll take that as a resounding no.”

Nate laughed and knocked on Danse’s power armor as he passed him, heading in the direction of the settlers presumably to tell them about their success. Danse followed at a distance, hanging back when Nate flagged down the settlement’s leader. Nate was better at speaking to civilians, better at listening to their woes and finding solutions and compromises so Danse easily accepted his role as intimidating muscle when traveling in Nate’s company.

A minute later Nate returned after exchanging handshakes and caps. He tucked away the paltry payment and gave Danse a smile, asking if he was ready to head back.

Danse nodded and gestured for Nate to lead the way.

...

Nate was absentmindedly fiddling with his radio when they both heard it; one moment was a woman singing, deep and throaty, the next brought a hiss of static that cleared to a woman sobbing and begging, the anguish in her voice settling a cold lump in Danse’s gut.

“Shit,” Nate muttered under his breath, carefully twisting the dial back to the pleading woman.

The message was garbled at best, the woman bawling too hard to speak clearly. Danse could pick out her screaming no, her begging to her God, only with the final line of the recording did he understand as she wailed _They took my baby_.

A cold knot formed in Danse’s throat as he risked a glance at Nate. The other man had frozen in place, staring sightlessly at the radio waves spiking on his pip-boy. His face had paled and Danse couldn’t even begin to imagine the thoughts circling his brain.

Ignoring the distress signal wasn’t an option, so Danse cleared his throat and held out a hand palm up. “If this will be too difficult for you, allow me to go find it on my own. You don’t need to put yourself through this.”

But Nate simply scowled and turned in the direction the signal was strongest. “We’ll go together.” Nate said simply, voice low and even, and that was it on the matter, speaking nothing more as he left Danse’s side.

“Of course.” Danse agreed, falling in step with Nate easily.

…

Ferals roamed the area outside of the bunker the signal originated from, their shuffling footsteps and groans loud even over the sound of the approaching storm. Danse couldn’t help the sneer of disgust that curled his lip and wondered how long these feral ghouls had been plaguing the woman on the radio’s tomb. He wondered if the vague _they_ in her message meant ghouls; he supposed it had and he could taste the acrid bile of distress in the back of his throat when he thought of some poor woman fleeing some incomprehensible horror with a defenseless babe in her arms.

It made his heart ache in a helpless way, but when he risked a glance at Nate, only to see him steely eyed and taking aim at the closest feral, Danse felt a shiver travel down his spine, something that left goosebumps on his skin and his blood running too hot in his veins. Respect, admiration, awe; Danse was stricken by the suddenness of his thoughts about Nate at such an inopportune moment and wondered if it was possible to feel too much for another person.

Danse forced himself to lift his gun, putting round after round into twitching ferals until there was nothing but withered bodies and spent shells surrounding him.

Once the momentary danger had been eradicated, Danse automatically turned his back to Nate to keep lookout. Nate wasted no time, crouched next to the bunker door, pins in hand, careful fingers twisting the tumblers with practiced ease.

Danse heard when Nate found his success, the bunker door swinging open loudly to reveal a pitch black pathway leading into the earth. The freshly opened bunker reeked like a crypt, the air choked by disturbed dust particles that swirled in the light from Danse’s headlamp as he peered inside.

Nate cranked up the glow on his pip-boy and led the way, the voice of the woman over the radio echoing hauntingly in the tight hallway. From further in the bunker Danse could hear the actual radio broadcasting the message, the voice out of sync and overlapping with the radio frequency.

It was easy to find the woman behind the distress signal once Danse stepped into the main chamber of the bunker. As he looked this way and that, the lamp on his helmet illuminated rows of shelves of unused supplies: ancient guns and ammo, food, water, all untouched. It seemed the only thing the woman had grabbed was the little ham radio, pulling it with her to the furthermost corner of the bunker.

Sweeping over the corner with his light, Danse then realized with a sinking feeling the radio wasn’t the only thing she had grabbed off the shelf.

Danse had the sudden childish notion to cover Nate’s eyes, spare him from the sight of the tattered skeleton with a hole in her skull and gun in her hand, the entire sad story spelled out by the splattered stain of brains on the wall behind her.

But Nate had already seen, had already inched forward, crouching down and reaching over her to turn the dial off on the radio discarded at her side. Static suddenly hissed from Nate’s pip-boy before he flipped that dial as well, the bunker plunging into a dead silence.

“We’re done here.” Nate said simply, turning his back on the scene and leaving the woman in the inky black darkness, the silence closing in around them like a tomb.

Nate headed back toward the entrance and again Danse fell into step with him.

Danse looked up when they emerged from the bunker, noticing the sky above them had turned a sickly grey green, the electricity in the air making the hair on his arms prickle and stand straight up. The steady click of the Geiger counter on Nate’s pip-boy began to pick up pace though Nate seemed not to pay it any attention.

“We can’t stay out in this,” Danse stated the obvious, using what little daylight was left to peer around their surroundings to find a suitable building to shelter in. “It’ll cook us from the inside out. Any settlements nearby? I doubt either of us wants to spend more time than necessary in that bunker.”

Nate flipped his screen to his map before shaking his head. “Nothing this way that I’ve laid claim to.” Nate’s voice was flat, monotone.

As the billowing green clouds continued to roll over them, Danse gave a cursory glance to the buildings in the near distance, using his best judgment to decide which structure looked sufficiently abandoned and which would provide adequate shelter from the storm.

A sprawling warehouse with a half caved in roof seemed to Danse to be their best bet and he suggested as much to Nate before reloading his gun and trudging west. Nate followed without question, the counter on his arm spiking with each rumbling roll of thunder as the storm built.

Danse entered the dilapidated warehouse first, gun raised as he scanned the floor for movement.

The building stunk with the smell of mold and oil, old machinery left to deteriorate, picked clean long ago to leave just the skeleton of rusted metal shadowed in the fading light from broken windows.

Danse lowered his weapon as he took another sweep of the building, but the air was old and undisturbed and Danse felt he and Nate were the first to trespass in some time. But Danse knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable spending the night on the ground and gestured to a ladder presumably leading to a loft. “That’d probably be our best bet for the night.”

Danse climbed up after Nate, testing his weight on each rung as he ascended. Danse pulled himself up over the ledge and twisted, surveying the warehouse again to confirm their appearance hadn’t attracted any attention. The only sound though was the building patter of rain as the sky opened up above them and rumbling thunder that seemed to rock the building on its foundation.

Danse noticed they weren’t the first to use the loft as a camp, watched as Nate dusted off an oil lamp and patted at his pockets till Danse handed over a lighter from his junk bag. The light from the lamp bathed them both in a soft orange glow and Danse saw the previous occupant’s discarded food tins and forgotten filthy sleeping bags rolled up away from the edge.

“Not the worst place I’ve spent the night.” Danse joked as he leaned against the wall, facing out toward the dark shadowed expanse of the warehouse. He gave Nate a sidelong look, watching for as long as he dared as Nate rolled out one of the bags, ignoring the stains as he laid down on it, hands tucked behind his head. “I’ll keep watch if you want to rest, although I don’t think anything will bother us up here.”

And Nate nodded in acknowledgment before curling onto his side, his back to the light and Danse. Danse felt almost disappointed before Nate’s soft thanks reached his ear.

Danse nodded though Nate couldn’t see, before settling on the floor and making himself comfortable, left with just the sound of the raging storm above him.

…

The next morning Nate was quiet on their journey back to the Castle. He was alert and he was as deadly with a gun as ever, but the easy companionship he and Danse had developed over the last several weeks was obvious in its absence. Danse would be lying if he said he didn’t yearn for it. 

  
  


Upon finally reaching the Castle Nate broke away, muttered some apologetic excuse and disappeared down one of the stone hallways leaving Danse to unload their haul into the workbench himself.

Not that Danse blamed him. In quiet moments Danse still heard the shrill anguish of the woman’s voice, the static screams making his stomach curdle in a way it hadn’t since discovering the monstrosity Cutler had become. The desperation and fear brought Danse back to his own moments of torment; the woman’s pain and his own spanning so many years yet so similar in its agony that Danse wondered if there could ever be reprieve of it in this world the bombs created.

In the distress signal Danse could hear the woman’s desperate need to save her child, it made him think of the young, deceptively naïve Squires and what he would do to protect them, knew that feeling must be exponentially overwhelming when the child was your own flesh and blood, like a piece of your own soul being ripped away.

Danse felt his chest compress in sympathy for Nate, searching endlessly for the son stolen from him, how it must ache to be reminded that some children lost are never able to be found.

Danse finished packing away the junk that Nate swore wasn’t junk, the loose screws and the superglue and the lighters that always seemed to gather at the bottom of Danse’s pack. It worried Danse as usually Nate would take time after missions to sort and organize the items he recovered himself. To leave the task to Danse when Danse usually opted to trash the extra weight was…

Danse shoved the drawer of the workbench closed with a groaning squeal, his eyebrows knit together in a scowl as he leaned over the red metal. Nate had slunk away in search of solitude, but the rapid hammering of Danse’s heart told him to find Nate, not to leave him to suffer on his own.

  
  


Danse found Nate sitting quietly on the porch of his concrete monstrosity he’d built facing the ocean. He’d settled into a loveseat missing half its padding, his dog resting its chin on Nate’s knee, his hand rubbing one of its ears fondly. A bottle of whiskey sat forgotten at his side and Danse wondered if he’d come out here to drown his sorrows, to try to forget the sounds and sights they’d stumbled over the day before.

Danse was no good at this sort of thing, but. He’d try.

“Would you like some company?”

Nate looked up, his face all shadow. He hadn’t run a line out from the generator this far and the porch (as well as the entire back half of his shelter) was steeped in darkness. Danse could barely see much past the stars and the dark waves of the ocean moving ceaselessly, the horizon and the water bleeding together in the distance.

“You’ll hurt Dogmeat’s feelings talking like he’s not even here.”

The dog’s ears perked up at his name and Danse stayed silent, shifting uncomfortably.

After a beat too long Danse could see the white flash of Nate’s teeth as he tried to smile.

“I’m just joking.” Nate straightened up against the backrest, patting the seat beside him in invitation. Danse hesitated a moment, his fingers catching on the release of his armor before he pulled it, the armor hissing as it split and opened. A gust of cool salt air made Danse’s skin prickle as he backed out of the armor, feeling naked and vulnerable wearing only his BOS uniform.

Danse sat next to Nate, sinking into the worn seat, their shoulders bumping as the loveseat dipped with their combined weight. Nate made no move to readjust, simply relaxing against Danse, his fingers scratching under Dogmeat’s chin affectionately.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t very talkative on the way back.” Nate sighed, voice low and apologetic. “Guess I was lost in my head for a while. And you’re the only person I travel with that doesn’t mind travelling in silence now and then. I didn’t think it would hurt your feelings too badly.”

“Of course not,” Danse agreed too quickly as he cleared his throat, internally panicking as he wondered how utterly transparent he was to Nate. “If you need space I understand.”

“Well you and the dog are the only ones.” Nate said, laughing a bit under his breath.

“I can’t say that’s unexpected, that’s what you get when you willingly travel with a synth.” Danse responded, a touch smug, a touch disdainful. “Or a degenerate chem fiend. Or a _ghoul_ , I know I’ve advised you against trusting him.”

Nate bumped his shoulder. “Honestly they’re not bad,” he chided gently. “You should really give them a chance.”

“Absolutely not, they’re all liabilities. I worry when you’re out in the Commonwealth with nothing more than a robot or mercenary at your side. And I won’t even mention that mutant.”

Nate tipped his head, eyes still trained on the horizon. “What would you have me do?”

“I would have you travel with me and me alone.” Danse froze as the words left his mouth, wondered where he had gotten the courage to say something so presumptuous and possessive. He suddenly sputtered and continued trying to save face. “B-because we make such an effective team and because I don’t trust them to watch out for you like I can. There is no comparison between a Brotherhood Paladin and anyone else.” Danse stopped and cleared his throat, wondering how much deeper he’d dug the pit he was in.

And since Danse’s eyes had adjusted to the dark he could see the small smile grow in response on Nate’s face, fond and genuine. “To be fair I don’t trust anyone else to watch my back the way I trust you to. I wish I _could_ take you with me every day.”

Danse wondered if Nate could hear the pounding of his heartbeat over the crashing of the waves. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something that cut Danse to the core; made his breath quicken and mouth go dry.

It seemed as though every time they were together Nate managed to say something that left Danse tongue tied, unsure of how to traverse the growing _something_ between them.

It wasn’t as though Danse was ignorant or couldn’t recognize the signs of attraction or the casual flirtation Nate slipped into their conversations. Yet Danse was helplessly inept at returning the soft, leading remarks, instead stuttering through confused excuses that left Nate with sad eyes and a weary smile.

“You could,” Danse said softly, knowing he was playing with fire. “Even if I don’t seem it, I also enjoy the non-Brotherhood sanctioned missions you take me on. Or even just when we stumble over a nest of ferals or muties. At least then it feels like I’m doing something positive for the Commonwealth, rather than sitting on my haunches at HQ waiting for orders.”

“I don’t think anyone would accuse you of not doing your part for the citizens here.” Nate said gently, elbowing Danse in the ribs.

“I could always do more.” Danse insisted, catching Nate’s arm, his skin smooth and warm beneath Danse’s calloused fingers.

  
  


And Nate seemed to once again be in good spirits, gentle, amenable, his usual self. And as usual, Danse was going to ruin the moment between them.

“Nate, not that this hasn’t been good, but when I came out here I meant to ask did you want to talk about what we found yesterday? I know it left you out of sorts.”

Nate didn’t close off entirely, but he was guarded, his limbs stiff where Danse felt their thighs and shoulders touch. Leave it to Danse to not bury the lede.

“No,” Nate admitted, making a reach for the alcohol at his feet before seeming to think better of the action. “But I doubt you’d leave it at that, would you?”

Danse shifted uncomfortably, caught. “Not if I thought I could help you.”

Nate sighed, pensive. “The thing is I should be used to the things I see and hear out here. In my time I was a soldier. I don’t know what I’d call myself now in this time. Mercenary? Knight? General? I’m not sure but suffice to say I’ve seen my share of the dark shit the Commonwealth has to offer. And yet,” Nate did finally take that drink, swallowing down a mouthful of fire before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and shaking off the aftertaste. “Anytime a kid is involved, at that a _baby_. I’m just, just _weak_ Danse. It makes everything hurt and I think of every other kid, every other defenseless little baby out there who needed help and there was no one around to give it. And here I come two hundred years later, saving nothing but ghosts.”

Nate was visibly shaken as he groped for his drink again, his grip on the bottle of whiskey white-knuckled. He took a swig and Danse could feel the shoulder still brushing against his slump in defeat.

“I couldn’t even protect my own baby, Danse. I don’t know where he is, if he’s alright. How can I feel like anything other than a failure as a father?”

Danse had a dawning realization that he was unprepared for this conversation, how could he comfort when he had no experience losing a child, had no experience with any sort of family really. He only knew the pain of losing friends, companions, fellow soldiers, but they were still losses that left an ache throbbing beneath his ribs, sometimes the pain so intense it felt like his insides were being pulled hand over hand steaming and slick from his gut.

“You haven’t given up on him.” Danse said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “That doesn’t strike me as failure; from the moment we met you’ve searched for him relentlessly.”

Nate just stared ahead wide-eyed, shaking his head.

“That woman, she knew. That feeling when you can’t protect your child, this tiny defenseless thing that needs you to survive…” Nate took a breath more like a gasp, his eyes wild and lost. “When you fail it leaves you hollow, empty. That woman… That could’ve been me. I don’t find Shaun it still could be.”

There it was. The bitter truth. Nate exhaled, long and hard, till there was nothing left to give. He curled over, arms over his knees, forehead resting on his wrists.

Nate looked defeated, lost, a look that in all the time they’d spent together since meeting Danse had not seen once. And Danse realized dumbly that was by design, Nate’s guilt and sorrow and doubts hidden in his concrete house over the sea. Danse’s breath caught in his throat and he felt overwhelmed that Nate had chosen to let him to see beneath the veneer.

Danse did the only thing he could think of and wrapped an arm around Nate’s shoulders, pulling him close, half on his lap and half in his arms. Awkward but meaningful, Danse hoped.

Nate took to the new position without complaint, head pillowed on Danse’s lap, eyes trained forward on the endless black waves of the ocean.

They sat like that for what could have been minutes or hours, Nate’s shoulders not quite shaking, his breathing not quite hitched. Danse rest his hand on the back of Nate’s neck, fingers gently kneading through his hair, willing his heartbeat to steady, the surprise of the situation leaving him breathless and off kilter.

“Your son is still out there. We’ll find him.”

Danse finally broke this silence, his words swallowed up by the darkness.

“Yeah,” Nate agreed weakly, sighing before he sat back up. “That keeps me going.”

They sat in silence again, Nate leaning into Danse’s ribs, Danse’s arm still wrapped around Nate’s shoulder. It was a comfortable weight, only interrupted by Dogmeat’s impatient whine as he thrust his snout beneath Nate’s hand, petting himself with Nate’s fingers.

“Sorry,” Nate murmured as he sat up straight, his fingers absentmindedly continuing to scratch Dogmeat’s scruff. Danse let his arm fall away, overcorrecting and sitting up rigidly, the small space between them suddenly a chasm.

Nate laughed a bit, a rough chuckle from deep in his throat, course but genuine. “I bet you didn’t think I was serious when I asked if you’d hold me like you held Haylen.”

“It seemed the right thing to do.” And it did, it felt natural to want to pull Nate into his arms, to soothe away the pain, to share his burdens.

Then Nate stood, and Danse immediately felt the loss, like a tangible thing dragging him down.

“Thank you.” Nate clasped Danse’s shoulder and met his gaze, Nate’s eyes as deep and endless as the ocean.

“Anytime, soldier.” And Nate smiled slow, squeezing Danse’s shoulder one last time before pulling away, the veil rehung, Nate back to being an unperturbed pillar of strength for the Commonwealth.

…

On an empty foundation past the rows of currently occupied houses, Nate and Sturges had built the towering monstrosity of a signal interceptor. With Danse’s help, Nate had tracked down components from military bases and abandoned hospitals and Nate and Sturges had labored tirelessly over the pieces of the scrap before believing to have successfully created a pathway into the Institute. Yet between the less than perfected plans and the _good-enough_ attitudes of its builders, Danse had his doubts.

He watched the machine power up and couldn’t help but be concerned by the choice of building the machine without the help of Ingram and the Brotherhood. But Nate had his own reasons and had neglected to share them, so Danse kept his worries to himself, watching with wary eyes as electricity crackled through the components. The thought that the machine could malfunction and kill Nate sat heavy in the back of his mind and Danse felt the cold drip of anxiety down his spine when Nate stepped onto the platform and disappeared in a flash of light.

Danse stared down Sturges, his heart beating fast as the seconds ticked by. Then Sturges gave the all-clear and Danse felt relief wash over him. Then there was nothing left to do but wait.

  
  


Danse kept himself busy in Nate’s absence by helping with the never ending reconstruction of Sanctuary’s buildings. Nate had mentioned in passing that the town used to be his home before the bombs fell and that it was one of the first places he had returned to after thawing out. But the few times they had visited Danse could see when Nate walked through the streets or let himself linger too close to his old home that he was left hollow in its presence, his shoulders slumped and his eyes empty. Danse thought it for the best that Nate kept his distance by residing in his home of choice at the Castle, leaving Sturges and Codsworth with turrets and guard towers and a promise to return if the town was ever in trouble.

And so the town bustled in Nate’s absence, settlers and farmers coaxing life out of what little arable land there was. It was impressive and heartening, and when asked to help repair a collapsed roof in one of the homes, Danse agreed dutifully.

Danse was still holding up a beam as a settler nailed it down when he noticed the flash of light from the east past the last house in the settlement.

Danse almost felt embarrassed by the way his heart skipped a beat excitedly, the flooding worry that Nate would never return from the Institute draining from his chest.

Danse held up the last beam long enough to be stabilized, then excused himself, crossing Sanctuary in time to see the machine wind down and Nate step unsteadily from the platform.

Nate was unusually quiet, his eyes far away and his expression grave. Danse could almost feel the gloom rolling off Nate, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Nate answered Sturges’s questions, monotone and succinct, then excused himself, Nate’s eyes meeting Danse’s for moment before flitting away. Danse let him go, the look in his eyes had been wild and distant, and Danse had seen the expression before in many times over in wounded and traumatized soldiers. He’d give him space, let Nate walk off the shock before seeing if he needed to talk it out. Not one of Danse’s strengths, but Danse was learning just how much he was capable of when he was with Nate.

Danse didn’t know exactly where Nate had disappeared to, but had followed a hunch as he stepped into the house he knew Nate used to call home. It felt like a time capsule, the whole cul-de-sac did, dusty and ancient, the ravages of time and nature only hindered by an overzealous nanny bot.

“Nate?” Danse called out, announcing himself before traveling further into the house, maneuvering awkwardly in his armor to duck beneath the door frame. The simple room was untouched, moldering couches and broken tables caked with dust and debris, books and knick-knacks on the shelf crumbling from age.

Danse walked carefully down the hallway, avoiding the fallen beams and sagging ceiling tiles, halting in the doorway of the last room. A nursery. The paint on the walls was faded and water-stained, a rocking chair lay splintered and broken on the floor, the only furniture still standing a wooden crib that Nate was slumped over, absently twirling what was left of the mobile hanging above.

“I take it you weren’t expecting what you found there. Your son?”

“Oh I found him.” Nate said softly. “But he’s not my little boy, he’s a grown man older than I am and he is the Director of the Institute.”

Danse blinked back his surprise and cleared his throat, unsure of what to say, unsure if Nate would prefer to bottle everything up or get drunk and spill his guts.

“I’m sorry,” Danse settled on, thinking how tirelessly Nate had searched for his son only to learn the truth that he was the cause of so much strife and pain in the Commonwealth. Danse felt the sudden urge to put his arms around Nate again, wondered if Nate would ever let his walls down enough again that Danse could. “I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

Nate exhaled heavily, tilting his head up so he could look again on the ruin of his son’s room. “What I wanted is gone forever.”

Danse heard the pain in Nate’s voice, saw the exhaustion in his eyes, was suddenly struck by the memory of the night they’d talked under the stars, when Danse had pulled Nate into his arms and Nate had admitted that life without his son was meaningless.

Danse swallowed down the lump of unease that had formed in his throat. “If you need some time I can wait outside.”

Nate nodded slowly, mouthing his thanks before turning back to the empty crib. Danse backed out of the doorway carefully and left the house, settling on the sun-warmed curb outside to wait patiently.

…

Danse hoped he was less obvious than he felt as he kept close watch over Nate. He’d been summoned back to the Prydwen several times, to make reports and receive new orders, yet always felt drawn back to Nate, choosing to spend his nights in the Castle barracks to remain close. If Nate noticed, he never mentioned it, and more often than not he asked Danse to accompany him when he trekked out into the wasteland. Whether from ease of proximity, or relying on the trust that had continued to build between them, Danse didn’t question it, gladly following Nate to whatever end.

They’d spent the last week running errands for Ingram, some that had involved Nate transporting solo into the Institute, others that had sent them searching for components up and down Boston proper. Every mission filled Danse with a deep-seeded pride, he felt as though this was his purpose; he had never felt so vital, so dedicated to a cause, Danse truly felt as though the Commonwealth’s salvation was placed squarely in his and Nate’s hands. The constant tasks left Nate in higher spirits as well, his mind fully in the present, solving the problems he could solve now rather than agonizing over the looming decisions he would have to make concerning his son in the future. The distractions weren't a solution, but Danse would be lying if he said he didn't prefer to see Nate this way: with his easy-going smile and resolute desire to help uninhibited.

  
  


Ingram looked up from her work, a generous distance left between herself and Dr. Li. At the sight of Nate her lips split in a grin, or the closest she could approximate to one.

“Just who I wanted to see. I’ve got problems and you’re the only man who seems to know how to solve them.”

“If only everyone here was as excited to see me.” Nate shared a warm glance with Danse before stopping in front of Ingram, arms crossed and waiting.

“Yeah well no one else here is foolish enough to attempt half of what I ask you. And this next one is a doozy. So if you don’t agree I'm afraid we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

“Haven’t turned you down yet, have I?”

“I like the enthusiasm, Knight. I’m looking for some nuclear warheads, and before you go suggesting fat boys I need something a lot rarer that packs a much harder punch. Luckily, I managed to track down a cache that should do the trick. You’re not going to like where they’re at, though.”

Nate held up his arm, ready to add the coordinates to his pip-boy, giving a good-natured sigh of defeated acceptance.

…

Traversing the glowing sea was...tedious at best, abhorrently dangerous at worst. Both Danse and Nate wore their power armor as they trudged over the sickly yellow landscape, but the steady tick of Nate’s pip-boy was too intrusive to ignore and Danse couldn’t decide if the sick churning feeling in his gut was from his frayed nerves or the beginning stages of radiation poisoning.

Yet somehow the twisted expanse of poisoned land was still hauntingly fascinating. Dangerous creatures roamed beneath their feet and buzzed above their heads, the land alive despite the unforgiving nature of radiation.

Most surprising of all was the demented cult of people that somehow eked out a living off the inhospitable land. Raw and tumorous, the humans wore no protection and Danse was horrified by the implications that their teachings wished for another nuclear catastrophe, a true end of times. He felt disgust as he looked at the poisoned Children with their clumps of stringy hair and gnarled fingers and was glad he could hide his revulsion behind his helmet as Nate bartered for a few supplies.

When they stumbled over the bunker from Ingram’s reports supposedly housing the required nukes, Danse took point, mowing down ferals with timed bursts of ammo, Nate following close to finish off any of the creatures crawling and writhing on the floor with broken limbs. The gunfire echoed off the walls and attracted unique horrors, water-logged glowing ferals slow and bloated trudging from the deepest depths of the bunker. Danse took aim from the upper platform, putting round after round into the spongy flesh before the last of the ferals fell.

When they reached the bunker's nuclear storage Danse let Nate handle negotiations with the guard cultist, a tense hand resting on his rifle and a close eye kept on the assaultron standing by in the corner. But Nate’s lies were smooth and convincing and they were allowed to pass without conflict, the man stepping aside and muttering about his fake god and rubbing his red hands together.

Danse let out an appreciative whistle as they entered the inner sanctum of the bunker, the fully stocked rows of shelves towering over them, the room almost humming with the sheer force of destructive energy housed within it. Danse heard Nate’s armor hiss as it opened, Nate extracting himself from the frame to have an easier time scavenging through his bag.

“This should definitely do the trick for Liberty Prime.” Danse said, still in awe. “That man out there was right, there’s enough here to end the world all over again. We’re lucky it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.” He heard Nate give a half-hearted hum in agreement, distracted as he pulled the tracking device from his bag and twisted dials till it began to beep.

“So that’s it?” Nate mused, setting the device on one of the rows of shelves. “The Brotherhood should be on their way, I guess we can leave. The less time taking on rads here the better.”

Danse cleared his throat, still lazily poking around the room. “I have implicit orders to remain with the payload until it’s been secured by the Brotherhood. I’m afraid I can’t leave the bunker until they arrive.”

Nate took a moment to think that over, looked like he wanted to say something before giving a casual shrug.

“Understood.” Nate flipped the dial on his pip-boy, looking over his mess of notes and tasks and missions highlighted in radium green. “I can get some of this done on my way back to the airport. I’ll meet up with you there in a few days.”

Danse nodded, knew better than to question Nate’s uncanny ability to survive on his own in the wasteland even if a knot of worry tangled in his gut each time Nate set out on his own.

“Be safe.”

And Nate gave him a warm smile and a nod as he climbed back into his armor, his heavy steps taking him out the door in the direction of the elevator to the surface.

Danse settled in to wait alone, the echoing quiet of the bunker closing in around him.

…

Everything after that happened too fast, Danse’s heart still hammered in his chest and his thoughts still piled and twisted in his mind, everything too complicated to make sense of.

_He couldn’t be._

The thought made him sick, it felt like worms crawling and gnawing beneath his skin, some vile joke that Danse was desperate to end.

Danse moved on autopilot, returned to the fallback point at the listening post to hide and think. He activated the turrets and rode the elevator deep into the ground, only letting himself settle shakily into an office chair once he was hidden in the deepest, darkest parts of the basement.

  
  


Danse didn’t know why he ran. He knew how it would look, suspicious, overwhelmingly guilty. But the panic squeezed his chest like a vice until it hurt to breath and his vision went dark around the edges. He had to get away, he just needed more time to deliberate, for the panic to recede so he could plan his next move, to expose the truth that the records were wrong, that he was human and had always been human.

If only his stomach would stop churning and the hard lump in the back of his throat would disappear. Some dark shadow in the back of his mind whispered that it was possible, that all the clues were there and he had just never pieced them together before. The missing family, the vague memories of childhood, the fact he had just sort of ended up in Rivet City and couldn’t remember how or why.

It was all too plausible and it terrified Danse in a way he hadn’t felt since the moment he’d discovered what Cutler had been subjected to; that this was the result of humans meddling too far into the technological unknown, creating things they couldn’t understand or control.

Danse wrung his hands, bowed forward in his chair as he forced air in and out of his lungs. He needed to know the truth. Danse looked around wide-eyed at the drab gray basement, searching aimlessly before being struck with a wild desperate idea.

Danse stood, stripping out of his BOS uniform, left the fabric forgotten in a ball on the floor. Then he looked, searched, felt every inch of skin of his shoulders and arms, looked for abnormalities, felt for any sort of aberration underneath his skin. Danse felt the nape of his neck, drove his fingers hard down the knobs of his spine. He looked down at the hard planes of his stomach, felt the grooves of his hips where they disappeared beneath his waistband. Danse ran his hands over the thick muscle of his thighs, felt between the tendons behind his knees, and looked carefully between each toe.

It was a futile search; Danse’s body was covered in marks and scars but he remembered every single one, there was nothing on the surface of his skin that gave any indication he wasn’t human. Then another, darker thought struck him.

Danse grabbed his junk bag off the floor and upended it over a desk carelessly. Glass cups shattered as they rolled to the floor, a jug of coolant cracked and spilled over the edge, everything else that Nate had scavenged and planned to repurpose clattered over the desk and floor. Danse sifted through the pile of spoons and tweezers and wrenches before finding what he was looking for.

Danse sat back down in the office chair, laying his arm across his knee and staring at the smooth expanse of flesh, at the prominent outlines of tendons, at where the blue veins crisscrossed before diving further into his arm.

Danse held the blade of the scalpel just a breath above his skin before he let it sink it, the dark red blood instantly welling up as he pressed in harder.

Danse grit his teeth, the pain hot and sharp, and he thought of the skinless synth he had fought, all unnatural smooth white plate with gears and wires beneath the surface. They didn’t feel pain, not like this, not when they dragged their limbless bodies down hallways as easily as they walked them. So if he was a synth why did he feel so much pain, why did he— _why did he feel at all?_

Danse dug further, ignored the fire in his nerves as he peeled back the open flap of his skin and looked at the bloody mess of pulpy flesh and muscle. It looked the same as any other human body. He couldn’t find proof that he was the monster they claimed him to be.

Danse poised the scalpel above the cut, wondering distantly if he needed to go further, dig deeper, wondering how much of himself he’d have to carve out to find the undeniable proof that he was a synth.

  
  


Danse looked up startled as he heard gunshots echo from up the elevator shaft, first the rhythmic staccato fire of the turrets, then half dozen well aimed, well timed shots, then silence. Whoever was on the ground floor was quick, efficient. Danse hoped they’d at least have the mercy to put him down the same way.

Danse hung his head and sighed, then tried to make peace with himself, tried not to dwell on all the mistakes he’d made in his life, on the regrets he’d carry with him to his grave. Pathetically, he wished he could have seen Nate one last time.

Danse could hear the elevator descending, and his heart hammered behind his ribs as he counted down the seconds it took for the elevator to reach the basement. Danse looked at the bloody mess of his arm and flung the knife onto a nearby table, spattering the metal with flecks of red. Danse closed his palm over the wound and decided he wouldn’t fight, would accept whoever walked out of the elevator as his executioner, would consider his death his last duty to the Brotherhood, one last synth eliminated.

  
  


Danse didn’t expect Nate to emerge from the retracted doors, fully armed and wild-eyed. He felt something in his chest shatter, some hopeless feeling he couldn’t put words to, and wished miserably that the Brotherhood has sent anyone else.

“Danse,” Nate’s voice was high, strained, the difficulty he was feeling in their final meeting obvious. “Haylen thought you’d be here. I had to find you before anyone else.”

Nate holstered his gun, his hands empty and palms showing as he took a step into the ancient office. He looked tortured, fighting to keep his expression neutral.

“Danse, please, I need to know why you didn’t tell me.”

  
  


“I didn’t know.” And Danse’s voice almost broke as he exhaled his honest answer, his heart hammering in his chest as Nate took a few more steps closer.

Danse wondered what Nate thought of him in that moment as he stood before him in the festering dark: dirtied, bloodied, unclothed, vulnerable, _inhuman_.

Danse wondered if Nate saw the weeks they had spent traveling together and getting to know one another, the words and smiles and innocent touches shared, the wordless way they watched each other’s backs in a firefight, a keen knowledge and understanding of one another leading them to be unparalleled in combat. Wondered if he saw Danse’s dry sense of humor, or the way he fussed endlessly over his power armor, or the treats he would sneak to Dogmeat when he thought no one was looking. Wondered if he saw the genuine hurt and confusion in Danse, the aching void left from where Danse once had purpose.

Or perhaps he simply saw what Danse saw: a dangerous machine that had fooled everyone in his desire for humanity, even himself. 

  
  


Instead Nate’s gaze fell to Danse’s arm, his wrist open and bleeding, the rivulets trailing down his fingers to drip to the floor. Nate’s face was cautious and calm and he approached Danse slow, like Danse was a spooked brahmin.

“What is this Danse? What were you trying to do?”

Nate’s words were soft and pleading, and his touch was too gentle as he closed the distance between them and pulled Danse’s wrist close to inspect it. The wound was deep, still weeping dark blood. Nate’s fingers were coated in it as they slid over his skin but he didn’t pull away in disgust.

“I didn’t,” Danse took a shuddering sigh and began again. “I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to. I wondered if perhaps I could find something under my skin, some piece of machinery… proof I couldn’t deny.”

Danse dropped his eyes, unable to handle the intensity of Nate’s stare, blue eyes boring like coals into his soul.

“Just something, anything." He continued, voice low and miserable. "A wire or a gear. Something like Valentine. I kept digging but all I found was blood. Blood and flesh and bone like any human. There’s nothing in there that makes me any different.” Danse felt the bile in the back of his throat, felt like a wild animal trapped and panicking. “I don’t understand, I feel like a human. I feel pain and hunger and thirst, I feel joy and anger. I… I feel for you.”

Danse’s stopped abruptly; he hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to burden Nate with the knowledge after being told the truth about himself.

Danse chanced a look up at Nate’s face, could see the exhausted sorrow on his features, the dark circles below his eyes, the aching softness in his gaze reserved only for Danse that he knew he didn’t deserve.

“Let me clean this up. Please.” Nate tugged lightly on Danse’s hand, led him over to a dusty desk and encouraged Danse to sit, standing between his knees to examine his wrist closer. Nate set about cleaning his wound; washed away the blood, smeared salve on him, and wrapped gauze with steady gentle hands. Danse could only watch with distant eyes, knowing he didn’t merit any of the treatment.

“I really didn’t know.” Danse said again, as if it was an excuse for being an abomination.

“I believe you.” Nate replied quietly, tying the gauze tight and scrutinizing his own work closely before taking a step back to let Danse up. “You haven’t lied to me; I don’t think you’d start now.”

“It doesn’t matter though, does it?” Danse found himself overcome with a weary sort of acceptance; he had run and he had hid, and yet it wasn’t enough, he had been found almost immediately. “You were sent here to destroy me, weren’t you?”

Nate met Danse’s eyes before shaking his head. “I didn’t agree to anything. I had my own reasons to find you.”

“But if you were following orders like you should, then that would be your duty as a Knight.”

“There are times I need to follow my duty, other times I need to follow my heart.” Nate’s eyes were hard and steely; he had made his decision long before he set foot in the dark hallways of the listening post basement. “If they truly wanted you dead they should have known better than to send me.”

“You’re risking too much going against Brotherhood wishes like this.” Danse tried one last time, distantly realizing he was arguing for his own death, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to keep Nate safe—it was almost freeing to realize that there was no longer anything Danse wouldn’t do to keep Nate safe.

“Or maybe the Brotherhood shouldn’t go against my wishes.” Nate responded with a cold finality and Danse realized there was no arguing once Nate made up his mind. He felt a spark ignite in his chest at Nate’s conviction, wondered if there was a way to escape his fate if Nate was willing to help.

Danse sighed and mumbled to himself, weighing his choices. “Well I don’t have a lot of options. If I stay I’ll be hunted, that’s protocol for synths, no exceptions. Maybe it’s best if I leave the Commonwealth. Go west? If I can avoid Brotherhood scouts I might have a chance. At least be outside their range of influence.”

Nate looked up sharply, the hardness melting from his gaze. “Leave?”

“I don’t have much choice.”

“Your life is here; even if you’re not with the Brotherhood you can still do good here. You would leave and do what?”

Danse hadn’t thought that far ahead, had been too preoccupied by his entire known life being devastated in an instant.

“I don’t know. Go back to being a scrapper? Work as a mercenary?” Danse’s voice fell at the suggestion. To think he had gotten so far, climbed so high, only to hit rock bottom once again. It was an ugly sort of fate.

Danse looked up when he felt Nate’s fingers wrap tight around his wrist.

“A lot has happened in a short time, so don’t make any rash decisions. Stay in the Commonwealth until things settle down. I won’t let anything happen to you while you’re with me. Trust me.” Nate’s thumb rubbed against the underside of Danse’s wrist, whispered over the tendons and veins and skin that felt so close to being human.

Then Danse was nodding, agreeing, felt a loss when Nate’s fingers slid away. But Nate was smiling encouragingly, herding Danse toward the elevator.

“Then let’s get out of this basement. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind earlier; I could’ve been followed here.”

As they exited the post, Danse heard the engines of the vertibird before he saw it, felt the sinking feeling in his gut as Arthur stepped in front of them, severe and immaculate and dangerous. It had been a nice dream for a moment that he would survive, that he’d be able to escape the Brotherhood’s justice, but reality was Arthur: pistol in hand and eyes blazing with fire.

  
  


Danse couldn’t help but feel surprised, unworthy, as Nate slowly talked Arthur down. Each tense moment that passed he expected a bullet between the eyes, his body flinching instinctively in preparation of it.

Yet it never came.

Arthur’s vitriol was expected, deserved even, but he backed down under Nate’s steely-eyed gaze, his threats and bluffs twisting into an intimidating strength that forced Arthur’s compromise.

So that was it.

Danse was dead in their eyes.

Exiled and an enemy of The Brotherhood. Danse was lucky enough to keep his life even if he didn’t deserve it; had only Nate to thank, still standing between Arthur and Danse as a shield even as Arthur retreated back up the hill to his vertibird.

Danse’s chest felt hollow, he could almost feel the reverberation of his heart as it thumped hard against his ribs. It was hard to swallow down the heavy lump in his throat and yet. Yet there was heat blossoming in him too, some soft hope at the fact that Nate was still there with him. Danse was alive because Nate had made a definitive choice, one that didn’t involve Danse executed; his body left to rot in a forgotten corner of the wasteland.

When the vertibird was a speck on the horizon Nate turned back to Danse, a frown tugging at his lips and eyes full of pity that cut Danse on a deeper level.

“I’m sorry,” Nate began, and then seemed to change his mind, his shoulders sagging. “Danse, I’m truly sorry.” He repeated.

And Danse understood, could hear the meaning behind the words, could hear everything Nate wanted to say. “Thank you,” he said, voice rough. “For everything.”

…

So Nate brought him back to the Castle. Because of course he did. And since Danse didn’t know where else to go, and Nate had worn a permanent furrow between his brows ever since Danse suggested he remain alone at the listening post, their arrival amongst the Minutemen was unsurprising if not wholly expected.

Danse believed there were worse places he could have ended up. The Castle was well fortified, the Brotherhood kept a respectful distance, and Danse had appreciated the creed of the Minutemen, even if he’d found most of their previous efforts ineffective at best.

So as Danse set his meager belonging down on the coffee table of Nate’s home, he thought this to be far more of an agreeable arrangement than he deserved.

  
  


Nate had left earlier that morning, had taken his dog and left Danse with the instructions to rest and take time to get his head on straight. To stay here in Nate’s wind-swept shack on the Castle’s battlements as long as he wanted and lay low in the aftermath of his exile from the Brotherhood.

It was a kindness that made Danse’s stomach churn hotly. Nate had proven his thoughtfulness and loyalty to Danse undeniably, so even with the understanding the life he’d once known would cease to be, knowing Nate was still his ally, his companion, left a smoldering heat deep in Danse’s gut that refused to fade.

In all honesty he couldn’t get Nate out of his mind. Danse supposed whatever was now between them had started as an inevitable slide; the bonds of their friendship had begun forged in battle with the smell of blood and gunpowder hot in his nose, the trust and loyalty between them growing each time he felt Nate at his back, two soldiers facing down the monstrous horrors of the Commonwealth. Then the relationship had evolved, no longer superior and subordinate, but equals, companions, friends, then to something that Danse had no name for, just felt it in his heart, an aching pressure behind his ribs.

The moments they spent together struck Danse as significant, meaningful in a way he hadn’t shared with anyone else. Danse could no longer deny his quiet endless yearning for Nate, his need like a dam: once cracked it was unable to hold anything back.

So Danse did as asked. Relaxed. Rested. He changed the bandages on his arm carefully, the irritated skin scabbed and raw but healing. He watched the gulls pick at remains on the beach, screeching indignantly when the surf would lap over their feet. And he watched the sun set until all the color bled from the sky and the chill of dusk sunk into Danse’s bones.

It was easy in a way Danse wasn’t accustomed to, in a way he knew now, that his life had never been even if his memories were false. Danse watched the sky a bit longer, watched the stars as they gradually appeared and the world around him darken before he returned inside.

…

Nate returned later that night, his eyes dark and thoughtful and his mouth drawn into a careful impassiveness. Danse looked up from where he was curled over the wobbly dinner table, pilfered magazine under his nose. He kept quiet; let Nate take his time to fill the dog’s water bowl and then pour himself a drink, noticed Nate’s knuckles white around the rim of the chipped glass. Once Nate seated himself across from Danse, Danse flipped the magazine closed, giving Nate his full attention, the quiet beginning to unnerve him.

“They offered me a promotion. To replace you.” Nate’s eyes flicked over to catch Danse’s reaction before he had a chance to turn away ashamed. It was expected, yes, but it still ached.

“A congratulations is in order then.”

“I didn’t accept it.”

Danse turned back, surprised. “You can’t just turn down an honor like that. When you have the chance to do so much good for the Brotherhood and for the Commonwealth. Why?”

“Because I don’t know if I can in good conscience continue helping them.” Nate admitted, his eyes trained on his drink rather than on Danse. “How could I? It would make me the worst type of hypocrite. To agree that all synths need to be destroyed when I live here with you. That’s…” Nate trailed off to take a long drink from his glass. “I’d already begun to have doubts about them before but I’m having a lot of regrets right now, Danse.”

Danse took a moment before he stood and crossed the distance between them, kneeling down before Nate, a steadying hand laid on Nate’s thigh. Nate wouldn’t meet his gaze, eyes far away and haunted.

“I’m the one who recruited you; I’ll take any of the blame you need to assign.” Danse tightened his grip until Nate finally met his eyes. “You weren’t wrong. Technology did this, made me, made the world this way; I won’t renege on that fact even if I’m part of the problem.”

“And I can’t look at you and see a problem.” Nate pursed his lips hiding the grit of his teeth. “After all you’ve done they would have thrown you away like you’re nothing. How many other synths are just trying to live their lives, knowingly synths or not? Humans are no different; you don’t come across a raider and decide every human should be wiped out just because one guy is a piece of shit.”

Nate lolled his head, avoiding Danse’s gaze again.

“If it helps I don’t think you were wrong, the Brotherhood may be… overzealous in their actions, but there is a real problem in this world and they’re attempting to fix it.”

Nate tipped his head up, lips quirked in a lopsided smile. “After all they’ve done to you you’re still defending them?”

“I’ve seen what unchecked technology does firsthand, you know that. Perhaps sacrifices need to be made on the path to a safer Commonwealth.”

“Loyal to a fault.” Nate whispered more to himself than Danse, but his tone wasn’t derisive, rather affectionate. It made Danse’s heart stir fiercely in his chest.

“It’s too late anyway.” Nate continued. “I already gave them the tools to wage their war, but I won’t be responsible for killing any more synths indiscriminately. The ones still in the Institute are slaves and I’m going to find a way to free them before I decide what should be done with the rest of the Institute. They deserve the freedom to choose their fate. Just like you.”

Danse stared open-mouthed up at Nate, struggling for words.

“You think that’s wise?”

“I don’t know, but I think it’s the only way I’ll be able to live with myself, Danse.” Nate sighed heavily, and then laid his hand over Danse’s, his fingers warm despite the encroaching chill of night. “The Institute is still a problem but I’ll find a way to take care of them without using the Brotherhood. What they’re asking me to do… it’s a price too high. I can’t pay it.”

Nate didn’t elaborate further, just tipped his head back to take another long drink and squeezed Danse’s fingers tightly before letting his hand slide away.

  



	2. Chapter 2

The morning was almost eerily quiet. Beyond the constant crash of waves and the distant twinkling of classical music the Minutemen broadcasted at all hours, there was nothing of note. To Danse it was…an adjustment.

After years of living in Brotherhood barracks, with the press and noise of countless other bodies while surrounded by the smell of sweat and metal and grease, to living on the Prydwen with its low hum of machinery and roll call at the break of dawn, he’d never felt alone. Now, to wake up on his own, nothing more than the smell of salt water in his nose and the tug of a gentle breeze through the windows was almost unsettling in its peacefulness.

It left Danse with an almost embarrassing level of paranoia; even within the relative safety of the Castle, Danse’s head was still on a swivel, his fingers instinctively itching for the rifle hung up alongside his jacket by the door. He tried his best to not let Nate see him jittery and slow to adjust to his new life; Danse didn’t need to take up any more space in Nate’s mind when he had already done so much for Danse. So Danse pushed away the swirl of thoughts in his head and sat up to start his morning.

…

Danse sat at Nate’s kitchen table, the air thick with the scent of Nate’s cooking as he stirred a pot of mystery meat over a burner. Danse had a deck of cards spread out in front of him, but his concentration was on Nate as he told Danse the highlights of how he’d spent the day, out in Quincy with Valentine tracking down an old holotape. It sounded like it should have been low on Nate’s list of priorities, but Nate had a very high opinion of the battered old synth so Danse kept his opinion to himself, nodding and commenting when Nate turned around, animated in an explanation.

It was a nice feeling, almost domestic in a way Danse had never known, talking together while cooking dinner, the afternoon sun low on the horizon, the light that seeped in through the windows tinting everything gold.

This was where Danse found himself most often, spent his time alternating between Nate’s home and the barracks, trying to justify to himself each night why he should just stay and avoid the long walk back to the crowded bed quarters. Nate seemed not to mind, had opened his home willingly to Danse, it was obvious Nate trusted him and cared about him.

“Heading out again tomorrow?” And Danse wished he wasn’t so obvious about how badly he longed to follow Nate out into the world; felt like a neglected dog whining at Nate’s feet. Nate just gave him a sad smile before his face fell, guilty, and he turned back to the stovetop.

“Yeah. Bumped into Deacon earlier. Seems Desdemona wants to chat with me.” Nate rolled a shoulder indifferently. “I think it’s best to keep my options open right now so I’m heading up to the North End for a day or two. Lend her an ear.”

“You’re involved with The Railroad now?”

“Involved is a loaded word. I meant what I said the other night. If this can be a mutually beneficially relationship then like I said I have no choice other than to explore all my options.”

Danse could hear the hard edge in Nate’s voice, could hear the finality. And Danse found he didn’t have it in him to argue, he owed too much to Nate, didn’t want to make him regret taking Danse in. And honestly in the short time since his exile Danse had spent much of it in his own head, trying to open his mind to the ideas the Brotherhood rejected, trying to be empathetic to the synths he shared his blood with.

Yet something pricked at the back of his mind as he met Nate’s eyes, warm brown on cold blue.

“One of those options the Institute?” Danse’s voice was low and although he didn’t mean it to be accusatory he wasn’t surprised when the words came out sharp as a blade.

“He’s my son.” Nate said simply, linking his fingers together and rubbing distractedly at the space where his wedding ring used to be. “I’ll give him a chance to at least say what he has to say.”

Danse nodded almost in agreement, but he couldn’t leave well enough alone as he flipped his last card and lost his game. Distantly he wondered just how much Nate and his son had already talked during all those instances Nate had transported into the Institute on his own, spending hours and days among the enemy and yet emerging hale and whole each time.

“Right. Just remember what the Institute has done to the people here. The fear we live in.” Danse dropped his gaze to his hands, broad and callused and synthetic, and his voice softened to a whisper. "And all the ways they've hurt us."

Nate’s back straightened, the muscles in his shoulders and down his spine stiff, though his head was still downcast. Seconds ticked by in silence before Nate cleared his throat and picked up his wooden spoon to continue stirring.

“Of course,” Nate agreed softly. "I could never forget."

Danse shuffled his cards together carelessly, wondering if he had ruined the night as he felt the heavy air between them distant and strained. He wondered if he should just excuse himself and return to the barracks, leave before Nate can ask him to leave—

“You’re staying for dinner, right?” Nate’s voice was back to normal as he turned to face Danse, though his eyes were still sad, endlessly blue and as distant and vast as the ocean. There were so many secrets lying below those depths and Danse wondered if he’d ever again see further beneath the surface.

“If you’d still like me to stay.” Danse said quietly, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.

“Please.” Was Nate’s simple answer as he pulled place settings for two from the cabinet.

…

Time passed slowly for Danse. He wasn’t necessarily confined within the castle walls, but when Nate was halfway across the Commonwealth aiding MacCready or visiting Piper and Valentine in the heart of the city or defending a settlement with Preston, Danse only ventured out carefully, implicitly aware of the Brotherhood patrols circling South Boston.

Nate had left several days ago in the direction of Bunker Hill, had been vague on his plans and even less forthcoming with an estimate of his return. Danse hoped that the secrecy wasn’t directly related to his tense words the other night, but the thought pricked the back of his mind like a thorn and for not the first time Danse pined for the simplicity of their relationship from back when Nate was nothing more than a promising recruit and Danse was a decorated Paladin.

Danse knew he shouldn’t dwell on it, but he couldn’t help the painful way his heart curled in on itself when he wished to be able to once again freely join Nate on his travels through the Commonwealth. It was a hard pill to swallow feeling abandoned, even if it was for both of their safety.

  
  


But at least he wasn’t alone. Danse shifted, pulling himself up to sit on Nate’s couch and heard a perturbed groan from between his knees as Dogmeat woke and rolled over. With Nate’s intermittent absences the dog had become Danse’s constant companion, sniffing at his heels as Danse walked the battlements, racing ahead of him as he trekked down to the beach at sunset, even joining him on hunts for ferals, silent as they stalked between the buildings of South Boston.

Danse dropped his hand to the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears until Dogmeat’s tongue lolled out of his mouth.

“How do you feel about getting outside of these walls for a while today, boy?” The dog whined in what Danse assumed was agreement, jumping to the floor and dancing around Danse’s heels excitedly.

…

The house was still dark and empty up on the battlements when Danse and Dogmeat returned to the Castle. Once they were within the archway Dogmeat loped ahead to greet Ronnie and the other guard dogs, tail wagging and nails clacking against the stone floor. Danse took a moment to step his power armor next to the workbench before shedding it, slowly growing accustomed to the idea that he didn’t need to be armed to the teeth at every moment, that he could at least let himself relax in Nate’s house if nowhere else. It was deliberately leaving himself vulnerable, but each day Danse put a little more trust in the guard towers and turrets that surrounded his new home. Danse whistled for the dog as he headed up the steps to Nate’s shack, the low growl of his stomach his most pressing concern. Dogmeat raced him to the door, whining as he sniffed around the front stoop and found no recent trace of Nate.

“Maybe later, boy. Just you and me for a while longer.”

…

When Nate returned from Bunker Hill he was calm, peaceful almost, overcome with a quiet acceptance. He shrugged off his armor, poured himself a drink of vodka and sunk into the couch next to Danse with a heavy sigh.

Danse could smell gunpowder and smoke and blood on Nate, the knuckles of his hands raw and split, his clothes bloodied and torn. Nate raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply, growling and shaking his head as he swallowed down the mouthful of fire.

Danse saw a fresh cut on Nate’s cheek, crusted over with dried blood smeared all the way down to his jaw. Danse set aside his book and pushed himself up from the couch, approaching the kitchen counter to gather a bowl of water and cloth before returning to Nate and kneeling in front of him. Danse dipped the rag and hesitated a moment before pressing the cloth to Nate’s cheek, taking Nate’s silence as passive permission.

Danse was gentle and the cut was shallow, but Nate was apathetic and focused more on his drink. He drained it as Danse worked, Danse watching as his lips opened against the glass, the bob of his throat as he swallowed. When Danse got tired of Nate pulling away to take another mouthful, he gripped Nate’s chin between his fingers, turning him to finish cleaning the blood and dirt streaking his cheeks and jaw.

Satisfied with his work Danse set the filthy water to the side, was about to rise back to his feet when Nate laid a hand over his forearm, stilling him.

“I’ve made my decision.”

Danse looked up, locking eyes with Nate, the gaze behind them as vast and cold as the night sky. He let his hand drop to Nate’s thigh, the muscle hard and tense beneath his fingers.

“The Minutemen are the only ones I can trust to have the best interest of the entire Commonwealth in mind. Going forward my plans for the Institute will be conducted with their assistance.”

Danse couldn’t argue. The Minutemen had welcomed him, let him live among them in peace even knowing exactly what he was. Any fight that Nate and his soldiers were willing to take to the Institute Danse would join without hesitation. He owed Nate as much.

Danse nodded. “I understand. Did you... manage to talk to Shaun?”

Nate nodded and sighed. “I did. I warned all the synths in Bunker Hill and set them free and Shaun couldn’t fathom how stupid I was.” Nate gave a hurt bark of laughter. “So I told him the worst thing a child could ever hear from their parent. I told him how disappointed I was in him.”

Nate shook his head and shrugged. “He’s so far gone I don’t even know if he cared. The things he’s done, he’s created... not even caring how many lives he’s destroyed on the surface. He’s a monster.” Nate mourned, the veneer cracking as he buried his face in his hands, hair falling over his fingers and hiding his eyes.

“And I’m a monster for thinking that about my own son.”

Danse felt his heart throb in sympathy, felt the desire to pull Nate into his arms and comfort him. He settled for squeezing Nate’s thigh, rubbing the seam of his jeans with his thumb as Nate breathed raggedly against his palms.

“He lived his entire life without you,” Danse said slowly, picking his way through stilted words of comfort. “He didn’t learn your kindness or your empathy or your morality. His failures are not your failures, they’re the Institute’s. They’re the evil here. The only thing left is to make sure they aren’t able to destroy any more families. No one else deserves to go through what you have.”

Nate lifted his head, eyes dry but red rimmed from the pressure of his palms. Nate pushed his bangs back from his forehead, unable to control the slight tremor in his hand.

“I once thought dying would be better than a life without him,” Nate’s gaze had that faraway look again, as though he was distant in the past, staring at the life he could have had in comparison to the one he was living now. “Everything I’ve done in this godforsaken wasteland has been to get him back and now I’m betraying him.”

Another broken sigh. “He deserves so much better.”

“You both do.” Danse agreed quietly, stilling as he felt Nate lean forward, resting his forehead in the juncture of Danse’s neck and shoulder, Nate’s skin warm and soft pressed against his own. Danse’s laid his hand against Nate’s side, his fingers resting along the curve of Nate’s waist. He felt each breath Nate took and Danse’s fingers were brazen as they wrapped around Nate’s ribs. 

  
  


“Would you stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone.” Nate mumbled against Danse’s neck, his breath hot against Danse’s collarbone. And Danse felt a wild chill down his spine, suddenly thought of all the reasons he should refuse, keep what little distance there was between them, but found himself nodding, the stubble of his chin scratching against Nate’s hair, his hand still pressed along Nate’s waist.

So Nate led Danse up the rickety stairs to his room, the space small but vibrant with Nate’s personality. A taxidermy radstag head hung proud above Nate’s bed. Gnarled half-alive plants struggled in vases shaped like rockets. The glow from a neon light gave the entire room a reddish hue and every flat surface was covered in comic books half-heartedly sorted. It was endearing to have such an intimate look at Nate’s life, a window to the sort of person he would be if the troubles of the Commonwealth weren’t laid squarely on his shoulders.

Danse sat on Nate’s bed and waited as Nate changed and cleaned up, trying to seem more calm than he felt. They’d slept next to each other countless times on their travels through the Commonwealth, but this felt different, felt meaningful, and Danse had to swallow down the nervous lump in his throat when Nate flipped off the light and crawled into the other side of the bed wearing just a pair of boxers. Danse laid down stiffly and stared at the ceiling, careful to leave room between them and careful to not look too closely at Nate’s pale bared skin as he let the quiet of the room settle over him heavily.

The continual crash of the waves on the shore below slowly lulled Danse to relax into sleep, his nerves fading as the night dragged on. In his last few moments of conscious awareness he thought he felt Nate shift and turn, thought he heard him whisper right in his ear, but he couldn’t be sure as sleep overtook him.

...

Danse awoke as the first few rays of dawn spilled through the open window, the habit so deeply ingrained in his psyche it felt impossible to ignore. The first thing he noticed was Nate tucked against his side, his arm thrown over Danse’s chest and his head pillowed in the crook of the arm Danse had wrapped around Nate’s shoulders. The second thing he noticed was how painfully hard he was, his cock throbbing with the intimate knowledge of having Nate wrapped around him, the scent of his hair in his nose and the feel of soft skin beneath Danse’s fingers.

Danse groaned internally, unsure how to extract himself from the predicament without embarrassing himself or making Nate regret trusting him. He sighed wearily and relaxed against the mattress, deciding he would at least enjoy the feeling of Nate in his arms for a few moments more before ruining the morning.

And then the choice was taken away from him as a shrill siren rang out from the Castle’s broadcast speakers. Nate was instantly awake and pushing himself out of bed, moving so quickly Danse wasn’t even sure he realized he’d been sleeping half on top of Danse.

Danse was out of bed a moment later, then down the stairs to pull on his boots still sitting by the door. Dogmeat was already at the door whining and scratching and bolted as soon as Danse turned the handle.

“I need to get my armor,” Danse called back into the house so his voice would carry up the stairs. “Then I’m going to try and figure out what the hell is going on.”

Danse didn’t have to take two steps out the door before it became blatantly obvious the Castle was under attack. Danse took a few more steps and leaned hard against the railing overlooking the courtyard. Ronnie was rallying Minutemen near the armory, her scratchy voice managing to cut through the siren to even reach Danse. Directly across the battlements scouts hunkered down in guard towers loading rifles and Danse could see the guard dogs with their hackles raised, snapping at each other in feral anticipation at the barred doorway.

Danse felt movement at his side as Nate joined him, balancing on one foot as he tugged on his other boot. Nate surveyed the courtyard and turned his sharp eyes outside the walls, saw the incoming invasion of synths, their smooth white metal blinding as they reflected the sunlight.

“Well shit.” Nate muttered succinctly.

“Be careful.” Danse warned before leaving Nate’s side and rushing down the stairs two at a time to the workbench, itching to be back in the embrace of his armor. He felt vulnerable until the metal plates closed over his limbs, the heavy steel skeleton like a second skin wrapped around him.

After the armor closed around him, Danse shut everything else out, his mind focused wholly on acquiring targets and eliminating them, keeping a running tally of his remaining ammo, and sparing an eye whenever he could to the battlements where Nate was crouched with his rifle, round after round ringing out as he sniped from above.

  
  


The battle didn’t last as long as Danse feared it would; even after wave after wave of synths marched over their defenses the Minutemen were still standing amongst the corpses of the Institute’s onslaught.

It was a bloody, decisive victory. Danse looked over the carnage; several dead settlers and uniformed Minutemen strewn across the courtyard, one of the castle’s stone walls reduced to rubble, turrets destroyed and billowing black smoke. A costly mess, but a successful defense of their home nonetheless.

Danse found Nate by the wreckage of the wall, surrounded by synths still twitching and sparking, a few notable coursers lying broken among the pile. There was a cut across Nate’s forehead, deep and raw, and it left Nate’s face smeared in blood, on his cheeks, on his lips, dripping down the slope of his nose. Only his eyes were clear, deep blue and hard as he surveyed the damage.

“This was a message. Retaliation for the choice I made yesterday.” Nate’s gaze crawled to the body of the closest dead settler, an older woman with dirt-streaked cheeks and stiff fingers still clutching her pistol in death. “Their blood is on my hands.”

“They were fighting for their home.” Danse said thoughtfully. “We’ll all be fighting for our homes before this is over.”

Nate shook his head and Danse could see those blue eyes darken like a stormy sea. “Not if we take the fight to them. I’m done, Danse. I’m tired. I’m ready to end this.”

Danse heard the sorrow and exhaustion in Nate’s voice. He looked over the same discarded bodies and felt the same loss and anger, felt the same embers of vengeance stoked in his gut. The prospect of destroying the Institute permanently, of rising up to destroy his very creators; it left a gnawing maw of gnashing teeth behind his ribs that felt almost like righteousness.

“Wherever you go I’ll follow.” Danse laid his hand over Nate’s shoulder, the muscle tense beneath his gauntlet. Then Nate was nodding, the gears in his head already turning and planning.

“Get ready then, we leave soon. I won’t give them time to plan anything else or hurt anyone else.”

…

Danse waited on the rooftop of the Mass Fusion building while Nate stole into the Institute for one last time. The nukes had been set, the (innocent) synth escape plan was in motion, and it seemed for the moment that all the surface factions had come to a standstill, waiting on news of Nate’s success or failure. It all made Danse’s heart pound worriedly in his chest; Nate’s plan had variables, moving pieces, things they couldn’t account for and things Danse couldn’t defend against while stuck waiting on a fucking rooftop. Danse paced, his patience wearing thin, the seconds and minutes torturing Danse as they dragged by.

The wind was sharp so high above the city, it tugged his hair and stung his eyes, and Danse leaned tensely against the roof railing as he watched the skyline for any sign at all that Nate’s plan had taken a turn for the worse.

  
  


Danse didn’t have to wait long before a beam of blinding light signaled Nate’s arrival, his Minutemen subordinates in tow. Nate looked weary, had obviously been discovered and subsequently thrown into battle judging from his battered armor and bloodied mouth. But otherwise he seemed no worse for wear, and Danse’s fluttering heart settled in relief.

Danse came up to stand behind Nate, watched as Preston uncovered the detonator and presented it to Nate like a morbid trophy. “Everything go as expected?”

“Not exactly,” Nate admitted as his hands curled around the box, his knuckles turning white. “But what’s done is done.” Nate turned his head, caught Danse’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. “I’m just ready for this to be over.”

“Ready when you are General.” At Preston’s encouragement Nate looked down at the detonator in his grip, hesitating as he moved a hand to hover above it. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, breathless moments passing in silence.

  
  


“Goodbye, son.” Then Nate pushed the button.

  
  


Nate turned away from the smoking crater on the skyline and let out a weak, weary sigh, his hand heavy on the railing to keep him standing. Danse turned with him, placed a broad hand on Nate’s shoulder and squeezed the meat of his arm until Nate met his eyes, the soft blue exhausted and apologetic.

“I think it’s time to go home.” Nate pleaded, his voice quiet and only for Danse’s ears. Danse let his hand slide a little further around Nate’s shoulder blade and nodded, craning his neck one last time to see the ruins of the CIT building and let himself finally think that it was done, that for so many people the nightmare was finally over.

Yet knowing Shaun lied dead at the bottom of the rubble… Danse gently led Nate away from the rest of the group to the twisting stairs leading to the ground.

“Back to the Castle?”

“Home.” Nate agreed and descended the steps, Danse’s hand laid firmly against his small of his back.

…

It felt like a victory as Danse and Nate returned to the Castle. The structural damage done by the Institute was already being mended, brahmin dragging in carts of stone and concrete and settlers working together fix their home. But word had traveled fast and when Nate was spotted, there was a round of excited cheers, the hum of celebration palpable in the air.

Nate looked around satisfied; he’d been quiet and introspective since leaving the Mass Fusion building, but as he finally saw the fruits of his labor, the worry that melted away from the citizens of the Commonwealth, Danse thought Nate looked genuinely at peace.

“I suppose we should help with the repairs.” Nate suggested half-heartedly, looking critically over the battlements at the smoking turrets and downed generator lines.

“Tomorrow,” Danse reasoned, all but pulling Nate toward to the sea-side shack. “It’s been a long day of travel, no one expects you to help today. Besides, you’ve done more than your share.”

  
  


Once inside Nate shed his armor, piling it in a heap on the bench by the door before crossing the room to the liquor shelf and pulling down some burgundy bottle without a label.

“I’ve been saving this for a special occasion. I think this is about as good as it gets.” Nate pulled the stopper, taking a sniff of the liquor before shrugging and pouring a heavy dose in matching glasses. Nate held out a cup to Danse, their fingers brushing as Danse accepted the offer. Nate held his glass up and took another sniff before crinkling his nose. “Although I have been wrong before.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Danse threw back a mouthful and it was potent but surprisingly smooth. The next mouthful went down even easier.

Nate gestured to the couch before he sat heavily, waiting for Danse to get comfortable beside him before he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.

“The Institute might be gone but I don’t think my work is exactly done.” Nate mused, sloshing his drink around in the bottom of his glass. “I think it’s best if I continue to expand the Minutemen. If nothing else I can trust them to protect civilians no question.”

“And what are your plans for everyone else?”

Nate sighed and took another drink. “I have a very tenuous alliance with both Arthur and Desdemona. They might not like it, but a ceasefire is in everyone’s best interest. Really it’s the reason I’m continuing to rally behind the Minutemen, I’m afraid as soon as I step away there’ll be a power grab. I can’t guarantee any sort of reconciliation between them, but I have a feeling as long as I’m acting General I can keep the peace. If I dedicate my time to being a mediator and strengthening our settlements then maybe one day the people of the Commonwealth will be able to fend for themselves. It’s the best I can hope for.”

“It’s the best any of us can hope for.” Danse agreed. He held out his glass, clinking it to Nate’s. “To the future of the Commonwealth.”

“To the future of the Commonwealth,” Nate nodded, taking a sip.

A moment passed.

“And to Shaun.” Nate said quietly.

“To Shaun.” Danse repeated and emptied his glass.

  
  


They sat together sharing drinks until darkness had fallen heavy over the Commonwealth. The oil lamp on Nate’s table burned low but neither he nor Danse moved to refill it, the dying light just bright enough to see the burning reflection in Nate’s eyes, see where it lit up the strong slope of his nose, his gently parted lips, the pale hand laid over his glass. There was a liminal sort of timelessness in the room, just Nate and Danse with the sea air, a shared bottle of whiskey, and a decisive victory. It gave Danse a feeling of lightness to his chest, a burden off his shoulders. The Brotherhood would still hunt him doggedly into the foreseeable future, but with the Institute a smoking crater in the ground and Nate at peace with his decision, an undercurrent of relief coursed below his skin.

He could feel the same sort of relief in Nate, in the way his eyes lit up when Danse caught his gaze, the way his muscles no longer swelled with constant tension, the way his jaw relaxed, his teeth not constantly grit hidden behind his lips.

When the lamplight finally extinguished, Nate took that as cue to stand from his seat, gathering their glasses and shuffling to the kitchen counter with help of the pale moonlight that passed through the windows.

“Stay here tonight?”

Danse agreed, his skin warm and flushed from the whiskey, glad for an excuse not to walk to the barracks. He relaxed further into the couch before Nate shook his head, eyes cast in shadow, his face turned away shamefully.

“I meant with me.”

And Danse wanted to, wanted more than he could put into words. Was instantly reminded of the last time he’d slept in Nate’s bed, when he had woken with Nate wrapped around him, the soft touch of Nate’s skin against him fanning every flame of aching need smoldering in his heart. Danse had been saved from embarrassment only barely the last time, yet he was more than willing to put himself back in the same situation and expect different results.

And so predictably, Danse agreed; treading lightly on the creaking stairs as he followed Nate to his sanctum. Danse took Nate’s example and stripped to his boxers and tried not to think of the last time Nate had seen him in so little clothing, so bloody and confused.

Danse laid down under the cold sheets, felt Nate slide in the bed next to him, leaving a gap between them though Danse was close enough to feel the heat radiating off Nate’s skin. He longed to touch, to close the distance between them; he ached for Nate in a way he couldn’t deny and made it unfathomably difficult to resist reaching out to touch.

Nate shifted onto his side and Danse could feel those luminous blue eyes on him, could feel the tension of the air between them as the moment dragged out longer, the silence deafening.

Then finally.

“Would you hold me?”

Nate’s voice was uncertain but genuine, almost too loud in the quiet of the room. A simple request with layers of meaning below if Danse could only peel them back.

“Of course.” And maybe Danse answered a bit too eagerly, but knew it was because it was the truth. Danse accepted that there was very little that Nate could ask of him now that he would refuse. Danse owed him too much, his life, his freedom, would claw the very moon from the sky if Nate asked it of him.

Danse straightened his arm, felt Nate shift into his space and curl around him as he folded his arm around Nate’s shoulders, holding him closely. The sudden warmth was overwhelming, intoxicating, the press of Nate’s body all hard muscle and soft skin. Nate smelled like leather and dog and that rubbish soap he pilfered from abandoned grocery stores and Danse was drawn to Nate so deeply, couldn’t help but press his nose against Nate’s hair, squeeze his shoulder a little tighter.

“I’ve wanted,” Nate whispered haltingly, trailing off and sighing at the difficulty of choosing the right words. “Rather I’ve thought about this, you and I like this, so many times. I wondered if you wanted the same thing.”

Things were moving almost too fast for Danse to comprehend. The question hung in the air, stark and naked, Nate baring his soul, his heart for Danse to do what he would with them. He felt a pressure behind his ribs and suddenly the weight of Nate’s head and arm against his chest was crushing.

And Danse had to say it, had to stop this before he fell too deep, any further and he would belong to Nate entirely, what little propriety Danse had kept between them vanishing completely. His need for Nate would overshadow every bit of rational thought left in his brain if he didn’t pull away.

“Nate, you deserve better.” Danse whispered, honest and guilty in the cover of darkness. For as much as he wanted, the truth was simple and painful; it hurt to mumble the words against Nate’s forehead, his lips barely brushing skin he ached to kiss.

“Danse,” Nate said softly against Danse’s chest, his fingers pressing hard against Danse’s ribs, a weary plea accompanying his words. “Nothing’s changed.”

“That’s not true though, is it? I’m not who I thought I was when we met, when this thing between us began. Every part of my life has changed.”

  
  


“It didn’t change how I feel about you, though. I don’t think anything could.”

  
  


Nate finally closed the distance between them; really all he needed to do was tilt his head up and their lips brushed together, soft and needy, barely a taste before leaning back.

“But if you don’t want this I’ll understand—” Nate couldn’t finish his sentence before Danse crushed their lips together again, teeth clacking together in his desperation; one hand cupped the back of Nate’s skull, the other tugged Nate closer, fingers a vice against his pale shoulder.

Nate moaned against Danse’s mouth brokenly and scrambled to climb on top of Danse, straddling his hips between strong thighs, Nate’s body arching over Danse unwilling to break their kiss. Danse felt Nate bury his hands in his hair, gripping tight as he slid his tongue past Danse’s lips and he tasted sweet like wine and filled Danse’s chest with the same sort of heady warmth.

When Nate pulled away for air, he leaned back, ass fully in Danse’s lap as he settled against the budding swell of his cock. Danse felt his blood race, heart pounding in his chest as he reached out to touch Nate’s body. Danse let his fingers trail down Nate’s ribs, felt the soft skin studded with wounds new and old, a map of the life Nate had lived as a soldier. Danse wanted to memorize every mark, press his lips against every single scar on Nate’s body, worship the man that had endured so much hardship yet continued on endlessly.

Nate closed his eyes and tilted his head back as Danse’s hands explored, as he gripped the hard knobs of Nate’s hips, his thumbs stroking the taut skin of Nate’s lower belly. In the low moonlight flooding in through the windows Nate was striking, his body hard and lean and muscular and Danse wanted so badly, wanted Nate’s hands on his chest, wanted the taste of Nate’s cock on his tongue, wanted to bury his cock as deep in Nate as he could go, wanted to hold him down and fuck him until they were both red and raw.

Nate shifted his hips, dragging his straining cock along Danse’s stomach and Danse couldn’t help himself as he moved to tug the waistband of his boxers down, his cock springing free to rest along the curve of Nate’s ass.

Then Nate kissed him again, mouth soft and open, the threat of teeth whispering against Danse’s lips. Danse wanted more, whined as Nate pulled away to trail bruising kisses down Danse’s jaw and neck, shifting further down Danse’s thighs until Danse could feel the ghost of Nate’s breath on his lower belly, his lips following the trail of hair from navel down to the jut of Danse’s cock.

Danse’s thighs tensed in anticipation and he couldn’t help the strained moan that escaped him as Nate finally slid his lips around Danse’s cock, the heat and pressure overwhelming. Nate coaxed him further into his mouth, his throat swallowing and constricting around the length of Danse’s cock. Danse threw back his head and buried his fingers in Nate’s hair, kneading the dark strands between his fingers as Nate bobbed his head, slowly at first then picking up pace, Danse’s leaking cock sliding easily past his lips.

Danse pulled Nate away before too long, his blood too hot, heat coiling in his gut as Nate raised his eyes to meet Danse’s, his mouth slack with slick lips, reddened from the wide stretch around his cock.

“Come here,” Danse mumbled, tugging on Nate’s arm desperately till their bodies aligned and then kissed him hard, their lips sliding together as Danse pulled Nate closer, a hand around the back of his neck, a hand gripping the meat of Nate’s thigh. He felt ravenous, touching and tasting not enough, he wanted to be inside Nate, wanted to lose himself in him, lose the last bit of separation between them.

Nate seemed to sense Danse’s unspoken urgency and tugged at the waistband of his boxers, sliding the fabric down his thighs to kick them off. Danse grabbed greedy handfuls of Nate’s naked skin, his fingers sliding down the cleft of Nate’s ass before pulling their hips back together roughly. Nate rolled away for a moment to root around in the drawer next to the bed, sliding a bottle of oil between Danse’s fingers as he returned and settled back in Danse’s embrace.

“Sorry if I’m impatient.” Nate murmured against Danse’s chest, his fingers spread over the broad expanse of warm skin.

Danse squeezed his eyes shut tight and exhaled against the crown of Nate’s head, trying to will his blood to calm, the aching want in his body leaving him breathless. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Spurred by Nate’s words, Danse didn’t waste time; he slicked his fingers and soon had Nate panting and twisting beneath him, two fingers knuckle deep stretching the tight ring of muscle. Danse could tell when he brushed against the right spot in Nate, his heart flipping weightlessly in his chest as he watched Nate toss his head, breathless as he panted against the pillows, the muscles of his splayed thighs quivering.

Then Nate wrapped a hand behind Danse’s neck to pull him down, pull him close.

“Fuck me,” Nate finally whispered in his ear, low and aching. And Danse felt a shock of heat travel down his ribs to curl in his gut, couldn’t tell if it was from the husky burr of Nate’s voice or the reminder that Nate was as desperate for him as he was for Nate.

Danse slowly slid his fingers from Nate’s hole and slicked his cock, the flesh hard and throbbing as he stroked himself. Then Danse eased his hips forward and pressed himself into Nate and if nothing else ever would again, that moment made him feel human. He felt every single prickle of want trickle down his spine as he buried himself fully inside of Nate and tasted the hot tang of his sweat as he ran his tongue up the column of Nate’s neck. Nate’s low moan and the scrabbling pull of his nails down Danse’s back made the throbbing coil of need in his gut tighten and pull and Danse had never felt so desperate, so needy, so utterly overwhelmed with every single emotion Nate made him feel.

“There,” Nate breathed, his legs tightening around Danse’s waist and urging him closer, his fingers digging into the divots between Danse’s ribs. “Please.”

Danse curled over Nate, let his lips and teeth worry at the hard corner of Nate’s jaw and gripped Nate’s shoulders, holding him down and fucking into him roughly. Nate was so tight around him, so warm and perfect that Danse responded on overwhelmed instinct, biting down hard on the meat of Nate’s shoulder. Nate exhaled sharply, his breath hot on Danse’s ear, and Danse reveled in the low gasps and pleading whines that his fingers and tongue and cock managed to coax from Nate’s lips.

“I’ve wanted you so badly,” Nate managed to murmur, his voice pitched low, eyes squeezed shut and his head arched back, exposing every vulnerable inch of his throat to Danse.

“I tried to wait, give you more time to adjust, I just couldn’t any longer.” Nate grit out some apology and Danse shut him up by forcing his tongue behind Nate’s teeth and swallowing down any further words.

Danse only pulled away to breathe, raking in the sight of Nate debauched and disheveled beneath him, his muscles pulled tight and his breathing erratic, his cock straining hard trapped between their bodies. Then Danse fucked hard enough to bruise, all of the repressed desire and need exposed by the desperate grip of his fingers and the punishing rhythm of his hips. Nate gasped hard and his body clenched around Danse, so hot and tight that Danse groaned low, more animal than man or whatever the hell he was. His hips snapped against Nate’s ass desperately and there was a wildness in Danse’s movements, a passion he’d never known he’d possessed; it had laid beneath the surface of his skin, deep in his flesh, biding its time until he and Nate were finally wrapped together, hot and sweaty and needy.

Nate tugged Danse close as he came, his arms thrown around Danse’s shoulders and his cheek pressed hard against Danse’s jaw. Danse felt the hot splash of come against his stomach, heard the quiet whine Nate tried to bite back behind gritted teeth. Danse’s stomach flipped in his gut and he felt too warm too desperate, he kissed Nate hard as he fucked into him, took his bottom lip between his teeth to bite, gripped Nate’s hair between his fingers and pulled. And when Nate tightened his legs, coaxed Danse in closer and whispered _In me Danse_ , Danse came hard, buried to the hilt and with a drawn out moan that seemed too loud in the quiet house.

But Nate seemed not to mind, raising tired hands to cup Danse’s cheeks, lining him up for kisses, soft and tender and breathless.

And when Nate relaxed back on the mattress to catch his breath, Danse was overwhelmingly struck by how beautiful Nate was stretched out below him. His chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, kiss swollen lips parted in the hint of satisfied smile, skin littered with reddened reminders of Danse’s teeth and tongue.

He’d never felt so close to someone, had never known the way that need and desire could almost feel like suffocation when he and Nate were apart.

“I wanted you too,” Danse admitted, pressing a few soft reverent kisses to Nate’s chest. “Even if I did need your help in figuring it out.” Danse sighed in fond exasperation against Nate’s ribs. “You’ve helped me with everything else, it should come as no surprise I needed your assistance here as well.”

“I’m here for you,” Nate exhaled, hands cradling Danse’s head to his chest, fingers running reverently through sweat-damp hair. “Always.”

…

Danse woke alone, bright rays of dawn shining directly on his face through the jagged holes that served as windows. He turned onto his side, hand falling onto empty sheets still warm and crumpled.

Danse slid out of bed and stretched before pulling on his shorts, his body warm and sated and feeling more rested than he could remember being in a very long time. Looking down Danse could see the tiny marks and bruises Nate had sucked and bitten on his skin and immediately felt his heart quicken in his chest, the memories of the previous night catching up to him and leaving him breathless and wanting.

It didn’t take Danse long to find Nate out on his balcony; balcony in name only really, just a few steps of planks surrounded by waist-high rusted fence, but it jutted out over the ocean and gave an uninterrupted view of the sunrise, so balcony it was. Nate had a pair of lounge pants on and a thread-bare blue robe draped over his shoulders to combat the morning chill. Danse noticed two steaming mugs on the metal table by Nate’s side and he felt something warm and achingly fond curl in his gut as he joined Nate at the railing.

“Didn’t take you for the type to sleep in, _soldier_.” Nate teased, bumping Danse’s shoulder.

And Danse fell right into his rhythm, raising a hand to rest at the small of Nate’s back and leaning in to murmur close to Nate’s ear. “Might I remind you you’re the one who kept me up late?”

“Didn’t seem to bother you at the time.” Nate laughed, a hand subconsciously rising up to brush against the ring of marks Danse had left trailing down his neck. Danse watched too intently as Nate’s fingers bumped over the curve of his collarbone, sliding over smooth skin until Nate dropped his hand.

“Anyway I’m kidding,” Nate amended. “Although it must be nice to wake up on your own time and face the day at your own pace. Free to do as you choose.” Nate trailed off for a moment, his voice oddly quiet when he finally continued. “I’m looking forward to that for myself, as well. Eventually.”

Nate leaned into Danse’s side and Danse couldn’t resist pressing his nose to the bed-head tousle of Nate’s hair, his fingers rubbing circles against the base of Nate‘s spine.

“I won’t rest if you need me.” Danse mumbled against Nate’s skull, Nate’s hair catching on the stubble on his chin.

“Maybe I’ll always need you.” Nate’s voice was soft, so soft Danse could barely hear him over the sound of the ocean, choppy and raging below them. “So you can’t decide where you go from here based entirely on me.”

Danse gathered his thoughts for a moment, biting the inside of his lip before responding. “Truthfully I’m still unsure of what to do now. I haven’t known this sort of indecision in so long. At least not from the memories I trust.” Danse sighed and gave Nate a pleading look, still not used to feeling so helpless and lost. The Brotherhood had given him so much and then it had taken away so much more.

Nate returned the plaintive look with a soft smile before he leaned on the metal railing, the flimsy structure groaning with the weight.

For a while the only sound was the winds low howl and the ever-present crashing of waves against the cliff side. Danse expected Nate to break the silence, to give his own brand of gentle advice, but the slow quiet between them was comfortable and Danse didn’t rush it.

Nate was silent for a few moments longer, eyes trained on the deep blue of the ocean as the sun broke fully over the horizon, the sky streaked soft pink and yellow and lavender. The clouds soaked up the colors, wispy and fleeting.

“You have freedom. You can take your time to figure out your direction now. Wherever it takes you, whatever it may be.” Nate sighed, twisting his knuckles where he gripped the railing. “I convinced you to stay once, but I think you’ve figured out by now my motives weren’t completely selfless.”

“You spared my life,” Danse argued. “No matter the reason that was the outcome.”

Nate turned, meeting Danse’s gaze with blue eyes piercing and clear in the morning light. “Yes but I don’t want you to feel as though you owe me. This world is better with you in it and nothing Arthur said was going to change my mind.”

Danse swallowed the lump in his throat, finding it difficult to hold Nate’s gaze, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming after a night spent in each other’s arms, the phantom feeling of Nate’s touch still lingering on Danse’s skin.

“Your life is your own,” Nate continued, turning back to the waves shimmering white gold in the early morning light. “The Brotherhood doesn’t own it, the Institute didn’t own it, and I don’t own it. That’s how it should be.”

“Nate…” Danse’s voice was low and unsure. He trailed off while his fingers tightened against a handful of Nate’s robe.

“I’m not pushing you away, though. And well, truth be told, it may be selfish but I hope whatever you decide keeps you here with me. You know I’m in love with you Danse.”

And Nate admitted it so honestly, so openly, it made Danse’s heart stutter in his chest and his blood sing through his veins. It felt like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place. Danse looked at Nate with wonder and instantly knew he had never known love before meeting Nate, had never known that just the sight of another person could steal his breath, could make him want to claw his heart out, could make him want so badly his entire body could be consumed by the flames of it.

“Nate, I…” Danse felt as though all the air had been punched from his lungs and he hoped Nate knew he felt the same even if he struggled to summon the right words.

Nate stood straight, languid, pulled a hand from the railing to fit it in Danse’s and laced their fingers together before continuing.

“I will be here for you no matter what you choose.”

Danse could feel every single beat of his heart, like time had slowed and the only moment in the world of significance was the one shared between himself and Nate. The throbbing in his chest threatened to bring him to his knees, the only point of strength in his body where Nate’s fingers curled around his own.

“Everything will be fine.” Nate continued, conviction in his words. Danse had heard the sentiment countless times, but only Nate’s voice could make him believe it. And he did believe it would be all right, as he stood on the cusp of a beautiful brand new day with Nate by his side, their hands linked and Danse still reeling from Nate’s easy confession of love.

“Thank you.” Danse managed, hoping his voice was stronger than he felt. “Somehow, you always manage to show me the way forward.”

Nate tilted his head toward Danse, his expression fond and soft, a look that Danse had accepted was meant for him and him only.

“Danse, do you know what the most important step a man takes is?”

Next to Nate Danse stood and watched the foaming waves crest and fall. The sun warmed his skin and a warm breeze filled his lungs with salty air. Danse thought the moment perfect, and deserving or not, it was his. He shook his head, squeezed Nate’s fingers between his own and waited.

Nate smiled before he continued, a knowing, reassuring thing.

“His next.”

  
  



End file.
